thank you for the venom
by di3tc0ke
Summary: RonHermione. Depressing, sad little fiction. Read at your own risk. Oneshot.


**Thank You for the Venom**

_di3tc0ke_

**Disclaimer**: "Thank You for the Venom" is copyrighted to My Chemical Romance. I don't own Harry Potter. End.

**Other**: This fiction has the following pairing; Ron/Hermione. Don't like the pairing? Don't read the story. Don't tell me that you don't like the pairing in your review, either. You can insult my story all you want, but don't you dare insult Ron/Hermione since I warned you. Okay I'm rambling. It's a one-shot, and a songfic. This is my first songfic, so there. Oh, and its rated PG-13 for suicide and stuff. It's really sad. _Really _sad. If you don't like sadness, please don't read my fiction.

xxx

It's always the _quiet_ ones.

The ones you wouldn't expect. I mean, really, would you ever think that Hermione Granger would be sad with her life? Hermione Granger?

She's got it great, that's what everyone would say. Smart, moderately pretty, seemingly happy, there seemed to be nothing wrong with her life. To top it off, some strange Bulgarian was in love with her, along with some red head. What could possibly be wrong with her life?

_Sister, I'm not much a poet, but a criminal _

Hermione didn't know what Ron was reading right now. Earlier that day the two had been walking, both in their own worlds when they collided.

"You should be more observant, Ron," said Hermione, hotly.

Ron had huffed, but he picked up his book nonetheless. The two stormed off in opposite directions when a particular piece of paper interested him.

"Hey … this isn't mine," he mumbled. The top was titled, "Poetry." The words, "stab," "die," and "drown" jumped out at him.

_  
And you never had a chance _

Nothing about love … Ron frowned. He didn't want to admit it, but he had written several love poems about Hermione, and the only poems Hermione seemed to write were these depressing … frightening, deadly poems.

_  
Love it, or leave it, you can't understand _

Yet, even though Ron didn't understand the poems, or why they were so dark, he couldn't help but still love Hermione. He would always love her, even if she was secretly some Death Eater for Voldermort, or something. Though, he would never admit _that_.

_  
A pretty face, but you do so carry on,_

Yet, how could someone so beautiful write such dark, depressing poems? It seemed out of place, out of context. It was like pairing up two mismatched socks. It made no sense to him.

_  
and on,  
and on _

The confusion continued to whirl around his head until he realized that he was outside, almost half a mile in front of the castle. The forbidden forest was only a little bit in front of his face. He took a step backward and made his way back to the castle.

I wouldn't front the scene if you paid me

Hermione realized in despair that her poems were gone. Frantically she dug through her book bags not to find anything. She groaned loudly, propping her head in her hands.

"What's the matter, Granger?" asked Malfoy, "lost your homework?"

"It's none of your business, Malfoy, and no, I didn't."

_  
I'm just the way that the doctor made me, on,_

The truth was, Hermione had always written depressing poems. She could remember, when she was just a little girl, she would fetch papers and late at night she would scribble about how her life was 'sad' and how she wished she could 'leave.' Now the word 'sad' had morphed into 'depressing' and 'leave' had changed into 'die.'

_  
and on,  
and on,  
and on _

She had done it as long as she could remember, and no one had known. Now the worst person ever knew, Ron Weasley. It was because of _him_ that she was so depressed. He fell for beautiful girls, he would never take a second glance at her.

All they did was fight, and now he was reading her secret poems. Now he would think she was strange, he would probably _avoid_ her. Hermione felt tears prickle in her eyes. _Don't cry_ she commanded to herself _just don't._

_  
Love is the red of the rose on your coffin door_

_I wonder if he'll pick out a nice coffin for me_ she wondered. That thought even scared _her_. She shook off a chill and thought _there must be some **other** way._

_  
What's life like, bleeding on the floor, _

Oh, Hermione did it all. She even cut herself. Not often, like some cutters, or whatever you wanted to call them … but a few scabs prickled up her arm like red hairs. Sometimes the scabs would break, and for the rest of the day she would have to claim that she stained her shirt with food.

_  
the floor,  
the floor _

She collapsed on the floor inside the Perfect's Bathroom and let out huge loud sobs. The sobs echoed around the bathroom, making them louder. She let out a sniffle, a cough, then another sob. _No one better be able to hear me …_

_  
You'll never make me leave_

Sure, she had Harry … but she didn't care. She wanted _Ron_ to care. Sure, she loved Harry, but not like that. She wanted Ron to save her.

_  
I wear this on my sleeve_

Harry could _hate_ her and Hermione wouldn't mind that much. She wanted Ron to love her, Ron to dry her tears, Ron to read all the poems and say, "It's all right Hermione, I'm here now," but the chances of that were so low that Hermione didn't even believe it herself.

_  
Give me a reason to believe _

_So why should I live?_ Hermione wondered. There really was no reason … in her eyes anyway.

So give me all your poison

Hermione murmured some words and a container with a skull on it appeared in her hand. She placed it on the counter.

_  
And give me all your pills _

Some more words, and more than ten bottles of pills appeared side-by-side on the counter.

_  
And give me all your hopeless hearts _

"_Sometimes I have to check to see my heart is still in tact_," Hermione whispered, "_And then I see it, torn and patched._" Hermione sighed after reciting one of the lines of her poetry. It almost screamed, "Ron, you broke my heart!"

_  
And make me ill _

Hermione couldn't decide what thing to use to kill herself. She still couldn't help but shudder at the word _kill_.

_  
You're running after something _

Ron quickly arrived at the last line of poetry. "So I guess I'll just end it all now," he whispered. He gasped. Clutching the paper, he quickly ran, following the sound of Hermione's sobbing. He arrived at the door and opened it slowly.

_  
That you'll never kill _

In front of Hermione were bottles of poison, pills, a great array of suicidal possessions. "No!" he whispered.

_  
If this is what you want _

He grabbed three and smashed them. "Ron!" she exclaimed fiercely. He didn't stop until every bottle was scattered remains of glass. The liquid from the bottles slid across and down the counter. A silence prolonged.

_  
Then fire at will _

"Hermione," he said. "I can't believe … you weren't going to kill yourself, were you?"

Preach all you want but who's gonna save me?

"So what if I was?" she sniffed, "it doesn't matter." She looked down.

_  
I keep a gun on the book you gave me, hallelujah, lock and load _

"But it _does _matter," whispered Ron, "it matters, a lot."

_  
Black is the kiss, the touch of the serpent sun _

"No it doesn't!" she wailed, "you don't love me. I know you don't. You love Padma, or Parvati, or Fleur, or some veela girl!" She continued to throw out names of girls.

_  
It ain't the mark or the scar that makes you one,_

"Hermione," he said, interrupting her, "I don't love any of those girls."

_  
and one,  
and one,  
and one _

"Ron, you don't understand," she said, "if I died, _you_ wouldn't care."

You'll never make me leave

"What are you talking about?" gasped Ron. He grasped Hermione by the shoulders and looked at her seriously. "I care more than anyone."

_  
I wear this on my sleeve _

Hermione didn't believe him. He was lying. He had to be. Nothing good ever happened to her. _Nothing_.

_  
Give me a reason to believe _

"I don't … believe you," Hermione said, "so just let me die."

So give me all your poison

She began to speak a spell to bring some poison and pill bottles but Ron knocked the wand out of her hand.

_  
And give me all your pills _

"Ron!" she said desperately, "I can't believe you just did that! Are you _trying_ to ruin my life? I want to die! I _want_ to!"

_  
And give me all your hopeless hearts _

"I. Won't. Let. You." He said, slowly. "I think _you're _the one that doesn't understand."

_  
And make me ill _

Hermione had almost cried herself sick. She sniffled and spoke; her voice cracking. "What don't I understand?"

_  
You're running after something _

Ron couldn't do it. "Nevermind …" he muttered.

"You can't save me, let me go," she said, struggling in his grip.

_  
That you'll never kill _

"Fine, yes I can tell you!" he blurted out. Hermione waited, her heart in her throat.

_  
If this is what you want _

"I … it's … I … um …"

_  
Then fire at will _

"I love you."

You'll never make me leave

Hermione stopped struggling and looked at him. She had a reason for living, after all. A smile graced her features.

_  
I wear this on my sleeve _

"Do you … really mean that?" she said.

_  
You wanna follow something _

"Absolutely." Ron grinned.

_  
Give me a better cause to lead _

Hermione leaned in, slowly, waiting. Ron seemed hesitant. Her heart sank.

_  
Just give me what I need _

Then it lifted again when Ron kissed her back. The taste of the salt in her own tears stained her mouth. It tasted bitter, but she couldn't ask for more.

_  
Give me a reason to believe _

She now believed that she _would die_ if she _couldn't live_ with him. Or maybe that's what she had believed all along. Except now she had better way of solving the problem.

So give me all your poison

"Ron … there is a way …" she felt a sad smile cross her lips.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"That we could escape it all … war … Voldermort … everything, together."

Ron looked interested.

_  
And give me all your pills_

She retrieved her wand for the bathroom floor and whispered a spell. A bottle appeared in her hands, a glaring skull looking at them from the label.

Ron understood.

_  
And give me all your hopeless hearts _

Hermione charmed two glasses to appear and handed one to Ron. He accepted it, politely, which was ironic for the dramatic situation.

_  
And make me ill _

She poured half of the drink into each cup and felt herself feel sick inside. She smiled weakly at Ron. Then, they both drank the glass at the same time.

_  
You're running after something _

Ron grabbed Hermione in his arms and they kissed passionately. It was the happiest way to end the saddest life Hermione would ever live.

_  
That you'll never kill _

Little did the two know, Harry and many others were rushing into the Perfect's Bathroom. Madam Pomfrey had an antidote in her hands.

_  
If this is what you want _

They continued to kiss until they were gone. Madam Pomfrey was too late. No one understood why … no one understood how.

_  
Then fire at will_

All they understood was that the two had died in each other's arms.


End file.
